


ceding

by Emeka



Category: Ogre Battle (Video Games)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Foreplay, Friends With Benefits, Frottage, Laughter, M/M, Massage, Missionary Position, Orgasm Delay, Praise Kink, Shyness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-03 18:51:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14575377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emeka/pseuds/Emeka
Summary: Being a boy hero is stressful.





	ceding

**Author's Note:**

> I'm more familiar with the original translation but I think the remake is more known/used now? So I mostly tried to use the remake names but I just can't on Denim gomen

It's a hot, muggy night, and Denim is awake wondering what he could have done better today.

He thought at first that being able to change the past would allow him to always do what was right. Eventually. Had he been naive to believe that? Somehow everything has been going wrong.

That fateful day, on some other timeline, he had chosen to conspire in the Balmamusa Massacre. That hope caused him to choose differently this time; but he felt no nobler, his sister still left him, and today...

His childhood friend had died today.

The way it hurts is strange, like it shouldn't. He still has the Vyce he knew first beside him, after all. But his stomach is roiling with an intermingling of guilt and regret. What could he have done better?

He leaves his tent when he can't take stewing at himself any longer.

As the leader of this group, he has a pretty good idea of where everyone sets up for the night, and who has what duties. He knows where to go.

Two men on patrol see him and sharply salute. Being seen isn't a problem; probably better that he is than isn't. He'll just look like he has business to attend to.

It's only when he reaches his destination that he feels nervous. Apprehension stills him for a moment, as it always has before. It's difficult to think he has it in him to do something like this.

"Are you awake?" he softly asks, ready to turn away without an immediate answer.

There's a stirring inside. Then, "Come in."

He goes in.

Rudlum smiles sleepily at him, from amidst a pile of blankets. His hair is mussed all around him like some sort of fiery halo.

Denim smiles quickly in return. "Sorry about this. It's just..."

"About today."

He nods, trying not to feel awkward under Rudlum's gaze. There's an expectancy to it that makes him squirmy. "That, and everything... I'm..."

Overwhelmed, he wants to say. He doesn't need to. Rudlum's hands gently cup the sides of his face and it's terribly easy to lean into one. His palms are broad, the fingers surprisingly strong. "Thank you."

It's hard to say exactly when they started this, between all the timeline switching. But he had felt the same things then as now. Lost. Hurt. Burdened with responsibility, and an awareness of just how young he is.

He spoke a great deal with Rudlum (well, vented at, more likely). Everyone else was part of some faction or another, wanted something or another from him. Most of them had to be dealt with on other timelines, leading to feelings like today.

But Rudlum bore no greater allegiance to country or clan, and seemed perfectly content only to be given something to study on occasion. Nor was he ever fussed about saving the other Rudlums--"I can't complain if you do," he said pleasantly, "but don't worry about it overmuch."

One night he stayed in late with him, drowsy and already dressed for bed, but too anxious to actually sleep. When Rudlum suggested a way to ease his mind, he agreed because... why wouldn't he? Even once he realized what he meant, he didn't really mind, although it was not how he ever imagined his first time would be.

But it was comforting and left his mind peacefully empty. So this little pattern was set up between them.

What exactly Rudlum thinks about it he hasn't dared ask. He seems so confident that Denim can't believe their reasons are the same. But he himself must look confident to others, so who knows.

He can feel himself emptying in anticipation. A few niggling remnants prompt him to look back at the tent flap

(what if someone needs you? and you're not where you're supposed to be? what if you're heard here? or)

"You're not anywhere but here," he feels murmured against his ear. "Look at me."

He turns back forward, feeling as ever in these last few floundering moments, both frightened and grateful. The quick dry peck against his lips is welcome, and when he is urged further in, he takes his usual place on the bedroll.

"Be still for me," Rudlum says, kneading the soles of Denim's feet in his hands. It's hard not to jerk with everything that feels like is being worked out of him, but Denim does his best by burying the side of his face in the pillow. It smells like cloves, like Rudlum, warm and spicy.

His calves are next, and those are nearly unbearable to sit through. They do in fact jump several times, but perhaps it is recognized as through no fault of his own; they are not remarked on.

Then his knees are rubbed circularly a few times, before going beneath his nightgown up to his thighs--and here he feels the first bloomings of sexual excitement in his lower belly, though Rudlum still does no more than massage him. He can feel his cheeks flushing from trying not to wiggle.

"My good boy," Rudlum softly says, hands going higher and higher, taking Denim's nightgown up with them. That little 'my' is bad-good enough; combined with the feel of his hem creeping up his bare legs, it's almost maddening. "So good."

Yes. All he's ever done is try to be good, really.

A ticklish brush over his hip bones before settling firmly over his stomach, where Rudlum remains for maybe ten seconds, the warmth of his hands seeping inside him. Then gentle rubbing motions up and down the sides of his abdomen.

It feels like he's melting into every touch. Everywhere south of his waist, even his groin, feels pleasantly numb and airy. He sighs dreamily, turning his head a little.

Up and up, passing over his ribs and to his chest. Another short firm pressing against his heart (can he feel how it beats?) and more rubbing against his pecs. Sometimes a nipple is brushed, but not lingered on. The little incidental touches feel better than if they had been focused on.

Rudlum lightly places several kisses from his collarbone to the side of his neck. Denim's breathing deepens, and after Rudlum kisses his jaw right under his ear, he meets him for the next, still pressing only lip to lip. It's nice to see him this close, since their moments together are always in the dark.

His eyes are so dark a green they just look black. But the shadows play nicely over his facial features: the strong nose and chin, the high cheekbones... "Your cheekbones are amazing," he mutters as they part.

Rudlum smothers a laugh in his hair. "I like them too. Now," another quick kiss to his forehead, "get undressed, and roll over."

Denim obediently shucks his nightgown over his head and moves over onto his belly. The first touch at the back of his thighs makes him start.

"Be still, now." His fingers knead in almost uncomfortably hard, up to the crease of Denim's buttocks. "Shh." His palms rest on the small of his back and firmly move down without lifting, once, twice, thrice, over each cheek.

Gods, his hands grasping his waist feel so nice, so familiar. But he's moving up his back now, one hand of each side of his spine, careful to avoid the knobs. Then the meat of his shoulders--and either it really does feel good, or he's just all bothered, but he can't help a soft groan and arching into the touch.

A small whap against his butt, more to make a point than to hurt, though it does sting a little. "Still. Didn't I tell you?"

"Yesss..."

"I'd think you hadn't done this before, if I didn't know better." The words sting a little too, but his tone is warm and teasing. Denim relaxes back down onto the ground. "Be good."

"I'm good," he replies in half-hearted protest. "It's just... you're good too."

"Good, or good at what I do?"

"Just the latter." He tries not to laugh when Rudlum whaps him again.

Next comes his left arm, from bicep to carefully pulled fingers, and is rubbed all the way back up to his shoulders. Repeat with the right. He likes the feeling of their fingers together. They aren't really a couple or anything, so they don't go around holding hands. But sometimes it happens during sex, and there is something sweet about it. Even if they aren't romantic together. Maybe he'll ask for it later.

Rudlum rubs around his nape next, using only his thumbs to press around the bone. "Your hairline is getting sweaty."

"The weather's fault."

"The weather," Rudlum agrees, leading up into his scalp. "Very humid. But," he whispers behind Denim's ear, "very good for rolling around in a bed."

"Too bad we don't have one of those," Denim dryly replies, shivering slightly at the sensation.

"If I ever settle down one place after all this, maybe we can work something out." There's something unusually grim in his voice that faintly alarms Denim. "Over."

Denim rolls back over onto his stomach, bringing his legs up with him. "What do you mean?"

"Nevermind. And your legs--" he points, "down."

They go down slowly. This part still makes him a little shy, though he's not sure what for at this point. He's hard, of course, and tries his best not to really look at it. "It's not fair if it's just me."

"What exactly isn't fair?" That warm teasing tone again; he has the same smile on his face. "Tell me."

"You get to look at me," Denim says haltingly. "And I..."

"Yes? Be a good boy and tell me what you want." His voice is so low now, his smile so easy, as he knees his way in between Denim's legs, gently prying them apart. Denim sets his toes near the backs of Rudlum's knees, where the skin is tender and hot.

"I want...," even not pressed flush against him, he can feel heat radiating from his body, "I want to see you too."

"And what do we say when we want something?"

"Please."

"Please?"

"Oh, don't." The words twist in his throat and burn his cheeks. It's not something he's ever called anyone, even his own father. Maybe that should make it easier but what it does is make him feel a little out of his league. He knows it's something that can be used sexually, but not why or how. "Um, please... dad? Daddy?"

"Please, daddy, what?"

Oh, why are you doing this to me? His face feels like it's scorching, all of it, but the feeling in his lower belly intensifies, like it's feeding off his embarrassment. "Please, daddy, um, take off your nightgown too."

"Why?"

"So I can... so I can see you."

"Well, I suppose that will do," Rudlum says agreeably, and pulls his gown over his head in one smooth motion. The lion's mane of red hair falls back around his shoulders. Denim tries not to eye him too overtly but frankly he feels entitled after all that. Not bad to eye up, either. A handsome moderate kind of stature, neither slim nor muscle-bound, with broad shoulders you can

(hike your legs over on)

actually he's not sure. But they are nice to admire. He has always been on the smaller side, as far as body frames go. Not much he can do about that, however much muscle he might build otherwise.

And lower... he tries not to pay attention unless it's actively in his hand or something.

"Since you were so good just now," Rudlum says suddenly, eyes crinkling with a different smile, "how about a reward?"

His hands glide up Denim's thighs, settling on his hips. "But you have to still be good."

Denim bites his lip and nods. In terms of a reward, being good means not ejaculating. "I'll be good," he whispers.

Rudlum nods over at a sack sitting just within Denim's arm reach. "Lubricant in there."

Managing one-handed is a little difficult, but he doesn't want to move away, and soon he has a little bottle in hand. "How are we...?"

"Frotting. It has been awhile, I think."

"Oh." It has been. It's the reward that forces him to acknowledge both of their sexual organs but once he's too aroused to be shy, it’s always felt good.

"Yes, oh." Rudlum positions himself closer, one leg over Denim's thigh. They're already brushing together this close.

Denim uncaps the oil and pours a palmful into his hand. It'll be enough to get them started.

He starts with himself first, torn between feeling pleased and embarrassed that Rudlum watches him so intently. He tries to be clinical about oiling himself, to not do it like he's masturbating but in the end his hand and wrist fall into the same rhythms he uses.

"Very good," Rudlum mumbles almost inaudibly at some point. "What a good boy."

Denim tries not to smile. His words inspire odd feelings of pleasure in him sometimes; not the words themselves, but the sentiment of praise behind them. He's making him happy with him. "Am I good?"

"Very." He presses a kiss into the side of Denim's free leg, by the crook of the knee. "My good boy."

"Yours..." Denim reaches for Rudlum next, his (penis, his mind tells him, cock, Rudlum affectionately chides him) part, feels how firm it is in his hand. Denim has little experience in telling them apart, but it's not ugly, or very different than his own. Much like how Rudlum is only a little bigger in body, his penis isn't much larger either. But the fact that it isn't his own makes it feel almost huge in his hand. He tries to imitate his own masturbation techniques on him, though the switch in perspective makes it harder.

Rudlum sighs and leans forward as Denim jerks him off, pressing them against each other. "You're getting bolder."

"Is it good?" he asks, meeting his eyes for a moment. Even before he hears the 'yes' he sees the blown-out pupils and reddish tinge to his cheeks. He feels extremely gratified by them. "I'm so glad."

Is it a tinge of regret he feels, when Rudlum eventually shoos his hand away? Surely not. And even if he did, it's covered soon by anticipation for the next step.

Rudlum presses down against him, using his hand to keep their penises together. They feel so hot and hard on each other. Denim is almost sure he can feel them beat together. "Be good."

Denim huffs a little. He doesn't need to be told again. "Can I move?"

"Hmm... no," Rudlum decides, moving his hips a little, back and forth. "And you have to actually look, you know? Looking away all the time, I feel like you don't like me."

Denim shifts uncomfortably. "It's not that. It's just..."

"You're embarrassed? It makes your face very cute though."

He keeps moving against him, and Denim tries to watch though he has to anxiously press his hands to his face to do it. They're all wet and slimy together with lube, dimly shining in what little light there is. Rudlum's bare glans glides along him from tip to root, sometimes nestling a little in his testicles (there's no stuttering so he assumes some of the lubricant dripped down).

For such a little movement, it feels pretty good. But he knows it would feel even better if he moved back, and the impulse is hard to resist. He tries to redirect the urge to wriggle by clenching his thighs; it feels kind of good too.

If they were going at a decent pace he'd be able to bear it, but Rudlum is going so slowly, it's making his head all fuzzy. It's making him feel every bit of contact and heat. Faster, and he'd only feel wet friction.

"You look like you like it," Rudlum remarks. His eyes are so dark and hooded, and smile so satisfied, he looks like every fairytale trickster cat Denim has ever known. Always getting ahead, getting the cream, and what is it he wants to get now?

Is it him?

"Yes, da... daddy." Unable to move, all he can do is mush his face between his hands. He's so flustered, but... it feels right too. Not just saying the word, but calling Rudlum by it, goes right to his groin.

"My good, sweet boy." Rudlum leans in to kiss him, bringing a soft waft of clove, no doubt deliberately pinning their members between their stomachs. "I know how hard it all is for you. But you're doing so well."

They kiss and nip at each other, frotting slowly. Soon the feeling in his gut is building and rising, making him grit his teeth against it.

"Daddy," he says between smooches with very controlled calm, lest his arousal make him too loud. "I'm close. I'm sorry, but I'm close."

"Don't," is all Rudlum says.

"But", but he's kissing him bruisingly hard, and persistently rubbing against him. They both feel dangerous. He's a good boy, he doesn't want to be bad, but Rudlum is going to force him into misbehaving. It's not fair. He tears his face away, nicking his lower lip on a tooth. "I'm trying, but I can't."

"Not yet." And it's so mean the way he presses against him even tighter. "Thirty seconds and we'll move on. But be good, or else."

Denim has never found out what the 'or else' is, and doubts he wants to.

He squints his eyes and tries to ignore how he feels. But god it's just too much, even the squelchy sounds are burning him up.

30

He's breathing too hard. ("d--addy")

25

His heart is beating in the surface of his skin. ("oh daddy")

20

He pulls fitfully at the roots of his hair. ("daddy please i--")

15

His thighs are trembling. ("oh god, daddy, daddy")

10

His toes are trying to curl. ("daddy, let me, please")

5

His stomach pulses with his breathing. (he clamps his teeth together)

And just as he's about to spill Rudlum pulls suddenly, coldly, off of him. He keens in his throat. He feels so sensitive and close that a soft breeze just now would send him over.

It's silly, but his eyes are filling with tears. Something drips on his face, and for a moment he thinks he's crying until he looks up and nearly gets plinked in the eye. He giggles into his hand.

"What's so funny?" Rudlum smiles down, looking (Denim happily notes) rather flushed and worn out himself.

"Your sweat is dripping on me."

They snicker quietly together a few moments, forehead to forehead.

"You did very well," Rudlum says when they've winded back down. "I knew you could do it."

"Not much of a reward," Denim replies dryly, though the praise makes his heart lift.

"You proved how good you are." Rudlum moves away, off-hand drifting down the inside of Denim's thigh, where his fingers massage the soft bit of thigh skin beside the perineum. "Although, if you really want, I suppose we can find other ways."

"Please. Just... I don't think I can handle that again."

"Whatever your heart desires."

He closes his eyes for a moment to reset and rest, listening to the clack of the bottle being upturned again. It reeks of sweat and sex in here now and they haven't even actually had sex yet. Must be the mugginess.

The cool touch of oil prompts him into opening his legs. He's so relaxed that a finger slides in easily, and without the usual mild feeling of irritation.

"I don't think you've ever taken one that quick."

Denim nods, arching his back slightly for another finger. It kind of burns a little, but in a good way, like scratching an itch. He can feel them pressing along his front wall. His legs jerk at a certain spot that sends a rush of feeling that numbs his waist.

"There?"

They keep pressing up on it, rubbing it, tapping it, each time layering that pleasant numb feeling. He realizes with vague alarm that it might make him come, if it keeps on; he never has with just fingers inside him, but he's never felt this good before neither. "Daddy, I think I might..."

"I know. I want to make you come just on my hand," the smile turns a little wistful, "but if you're being this responsive, I want you to come on my cock too."

"I can't do both," Denim says uneasily. Just once makes him too sensitive, not to mention sleepy and not at all in the mood anymore. He doesn't think he can manage twice, even for Rudlum.

"It's not impossible. But alas, an experiment for another day, I think."

Rudlum carefully withdraws his fingers and climbs on top. His hair falls like a curtain on one side, tickling Denim's skin where it touches. "Face to face alright? I still want to see you."

"I don't mind," Denim says, and then, remembering his earlier thought, "if you hold my hand."

"Yes."

Rudlum grasps Denim's right hand with his left, their fingers pleasantly intermingling. From there it's just a bit of shifting around until Denim finds himself once again with his ankles in the air, legs supported on Rudlum's shoulders. A pillow has been placed under the small of his back to take off some of the strain of his butt being lifted so far back, but somehow he doubts he'll last long enough to get achey.

The first push into him is slow and careful as it always is. The pleasure is new, this soon, and so strong, without even having his sex handled at the same time. He wishes they were all alone so he could freely moan, at least; not even loudly. He bites his lip instead and tries not to breathe too quickly.

"You're so cute," Rudlum sighs into his hair, pushing his legs further back until his knees are touching his chest and they are nearly nose to nose. "And so good. My good boy."

"You're cute," Denim murmurs back, hand squeezing briefly. "Daddy, it feels so good..."

"What does?"

He sniffles a little as Rudlum bottoms out inside him. How can he only be a little larger than him, but feel so big? He feels all stretched-out around him but it isn't uncomfortable at all. "It's your--"

"Not mine. Whose?" He's moving slow inside him, always so torturously slow in little back and forth nudges. That's all. But it's like he's stirring something up inside him.

"It's... daddy's... daddy's penis feels so--"

"Big boys have to use their big boy words."

"Daddy's cock... feels so good..." It's hard to say, but the approving smile Rudlum gives him makes it worth it, in a weird scuzzy-nice way.

"I'm so proud of you."

A little more force now, still slow, halfway-in and out. He tries not to whimper under it but everything inside him is being sparked and he was already close. "Please, here... I can't."

He throws his free arm around Rudlum's neck and pulls him down closer--now this is starting to hurt his hips, but there's no way he's stopping, and all he needs is somewhere to smother his mouth against.

And smother he does, right into his crook, mostly little choked moans and whimpers at first, then as he feels himself growing closer, actual words of the sort that he knows he'll be mortified to remember later. Daddy is so good, your cock, I want more of daddy's cock, more, daddy, daddy daddy daddydaddydaddy--please daddy can I come?

Gently, 'yes'.

He's going to yell, or scream, something, so he switches mouth for teeth and latches on. It must hurt; Rudlum tries to jerk away, but as sorry as he feels, he is beyond letting go at the moment.

A wave of almost sickening intensity washes through his entire body, from toes to scalp. He is dimly aware of making a series of very undignified noises, but otherwise everything feels so... faraway.

Rudlum is still rocking him, into him, and somehow it grounds him. It's oddly comforting.

He flops back down. "Wow," he numbly says.

"Wow," Rudlum agrees. "Are you alright?"

"Yes." He breathes in deeply and releases. "A little dizzy. That was intense."

"Here, let's..."

They move over slowly, to lay side by side. It stings a little when Rudlum extricates himself from inside him.

"Sorry, did you...? You didn't have to stop."

"I managed at some point between you speaking tongues at me and beating me up."

"I did neither of those," Denim faintly protests, but he's glad Rudlum had some recompense for his trouble. "I mean, maybe I bit a little..."

"And scratched me up. And crushed my hand." Rudlum wriggles his fingers for him. They do look a little bruised. But his expression looks more amused by the whole thing than upset. "I am impressed though, so perhaps it was worth it. Are you really alright?"

"Just give me a minute, I guess."

Rudlum gives him ten minutes about in the end. Ten very quiet minutes with his head against his chest, their legs idly entangling and stroking each other. At some point Rudlum takes his hand again and strokes his thumb over his knuckles.

When he feels sufficiently back to normal, they sit back up, criss cross applesauce, where he can sit behind him and clean the wounds he inflicted on him.

It's only fair.

**Author's Note:**

> ...
> 
> *sits in the corner*


End file.
